


Catharsis

by st_mick



Series: Niffler [43]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Torchwood
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Naming Ceremony, Trigger warning for homophobic language, Violence, healthy grieving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 01:35:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mick/pseuds/st_mick
Summary: Ianto returns to work, and he finds the new consideration of his teammates to be surreal.  As promised, Jack helps Ianto to conduct a naming ceremony meant to name and bless the lost child.  The ceremony is cathartic, but perhaps so too is the brawl with the young hooligans who see Jack and Ianto together on the beach and jump to conclusions.





	Catharsis

Two days later, Ianto returned to work. He had served his four week suspension, and it was with great trepidation that he stepped through the cog wheel door that morning. He felt eyes upon him, but looked around the hub before seeking them out.

His heart felt like it would jackrabbit right out of his chest, and it took all his strength not to bolt from the place. So it was with no little amount of uneasiness that he looked up towards the conference room, where Jack and Gwen were standing, watching him as they spoke. He wondered if Gwen had come in early, specifically to watch over his return, and he did not enjoy the thought. He vaguely noticed that Jack had a split lip, which made him wonder what had happened. 

Both Jack and Gwen looked so serious, it was only Ianto’s own stubbornness that kept him in place until Jack gave the smallest of nods, reassuring him that he could do this. Or perhaps he was just telling Ianto to get on with it. He hoped it was the former, though. 

He returned the nod and went to the kitchen area to begin the morning’s coffee, hoping his heartrate would return to something resembling normal, soon. While the coffee was brewing, he grabbed a bin bag and started collecting the rubbish. He was pleasantly surprised that the place hadn’t reverted to the tip it had been when he’d begun. He was able to finish by the time the coffee was ready. 

He took extra care as he fixed everyone’s coffee, and as he delivered each one, he was almost ready to bolt again as each of his teammates actually greeted him.

“Thank you, Ianto,” Toshiko gave him a small smile, which he tried to return, but was not able to.

“Any pastries?” Owen asked, though there was a bit more friendliness and less hostility than usual in his expression. 

It was freaking Ianto out, but he knew his face was showing none of it. “Unless Jack has something he wants me to do, I was planning to do an inventory and make a shopping list. I can get some while I’m out,” he offered.

Owen nodded and headed back to his desk. Ianto wondered if he should be embarrassed that at least Owen, and maybe all of them, knew that he had tried to kill himself. He was far from okay now, but at least he was not in that place, at the moment. Even so, he couldn’t seem to make himself care. After all, they hadn’t cared that his world had just ended when he arrived at Torchwood Three from London, so why should he care what their opinion might be about him falling apart?

He shook his head as he headed to Gwen’s desk and dropped off her mug. That wasn’t fair, really. If he had let them in, they would have cared. Maybe. They had certainly acted like they cared during his suspension, so he had to hope that they would have wanted to help him, even if there was no way to do so. Otherwise, why was he here?

“All right, pet?” Gwen smiled at him, just a touch too brightly.

_No_. “Getting there,” he replied, attempting a small smile in return, likely with less success than the one for Toshiko. He’d at least been _trying_ to smile at Tosh. He set down Gwen’s mug and made his way to Jack’s office, knocking.

“Come in, Ianto,” Jack gave a small smile, which widened when he spotted his mug of coffee. Then he winced as his split lip protested.

“What happened?” Ianto asked, setting down Jack’s coffee.

Jack held the mug in both hands and inhaled the rich scent before taking his first sip. The sound he made was indecent, but Ianto was still waiting for an answer. Jack touched the split skin and shrugged. “Weevil got in a lucky shot.”

“Sorry to hear that, Sir.”

Jack grinned, about to ask if Ianto wanted to kiss it better. Luckily (or perhaps not), the injury almost tore open again, from the strain. He winced again and stood, thinking he’d get something from Owen to dull the sting until it healed. 

Ianto huffed and stepped in front of him. “I know you heal quickly, but there’s no point in sitting here in pain. Here,” he pulled a small, lidded jar from his pocket. 

It was about the diameter of a pound coin, and maybe a half-inch tall. Ianto unscrewed the top of the little pot and a pleasant fragrance caught Jack’s nose. Ianto dipped a finger into the pot and then reached out and dabbed the substance onto Jack’s lip. “My friend Susan made this for me, for chapped lips. Always seems to be an issue, when the weather turns.”

Jack was stood there, frozen in place as Ianto gently tended his small injury. The substance had immediately taken away the sting, but it was the gentle touch that was sending sparks up and down Jack’s spine. He did his best to remain calm and refrain from leaning in to Ianto’s touch.

And it was the thoughtful care, how without hesitating Ianto had reached out to try to make Jack feel better, that had Jack befuddled.

“Oi, why are you touching Jack’s face?” Owen asked from the doorway.

Ianto finished dabbing at Jack’s lip. “Better?” he asked. Only when Jack nodded did he turn to Owen. He held up the pot of lip balm and shrugged. “Thought it might help. His lip can’t heal if it keeps splitting open,” he added reasonably.

“Long as you’re not poisoning him,” Owen tossed over his shoulder as he left the office.

Jack watched Ianto blanch at the suggestion. He did not say anything as the younger man closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.

“It was just a joke,” Jack assured.

“Was it?” Ianto very deliberately dipped his finger back into the pot and slowly spread a bit of the balm over his own lips, making sure Jack could see.

Jack was briefly distracted by a long, elegant finger and a pair of soft, sweet lips. Sure, Ianto had been a bit dead when Jack had first (and last) tasted those lips, but still… He gave himself a good, hard shake at that line of thought and took a good look at Ianto.

“If it hadn’t been, he would have stayed behind to enjoy its effect,” Jack pointed out.

Ianto nodded and seemed to take himself in hand. “I suppose we should talk,” he said, looking at Jack, and then quickly away.

“About what?” Jack frowned, picking up his coffee and humming as he was able to sip it without pain.

Ianto returned his frown. “Well, I can only assume that I’ll be on some sort of probation. That you’ll want to restrict my access, within the hub and within mainframe. I just need to know what you’re expecting. And then I thought we could discuss my workload – whether what I planned for the day fits in with what you need for me to accomplish.”

Jack sighed. “Sit down, Ianto,” he gestured to the chair and leaned against his desk in front of Ianto so they were facing one another. “I’m not putting you on any sort of restriction. You know your job, and you know what needs to be done. I was thinking you might want to stay out of the archives until you’re ready,” when Ianto flinched, he hurried to finish the sentence, “but that’s more for your comfort than our security.”

Ianto was frowning, shaking his head. “Why would you be willing to take that kind of risk?” he asked, confused.

Jack shrugged. “The risk has passed.” He gave Ianto a hard, probing look. “Hasn’t it?”

Ianto nodded. “It has. But I don’t understand how you could believe me when I say that.”

“And maybe I don’t understand how you could want to stay here.”

Ianto shrugged. “It’s all I have left.”

Jack wasn’t certain he believed that. Ianto had friends that had supported him like family would, during his suspension.

As though reading his mind, Ianto quietly added, “There’s no place for me, there.”

“Exile,” Jack said in a low voice, and Ianto nodded. He blew out a breath. “Well, then. In very loose terms, you want to be here, and I want you here. And we’ve both forgiven one another.” He looked at Ianto, another question in his eyes.

Ianto nodded slowly, a small smile on his lips.

Jack clapped his hands together. “Okay then. That’s settled. Now let’s talk about my meeting with Lizzie next week, resupplying the hub, and that weird smell in the tourist office.”

Ianto let out a sigh of relief, thinking maybe he could do this, after all.

***

The rest of the workweek passed quietly enough. Ianto spoke with each of his teammates, apologizing again and asking if there was a way to make amends. Each in their own way accepted his apology, offered one of their own, and agreed that amends would not be necessary.

Owen gave Ianto a physical in order to clear him for work. He let Jack know that he would not clear Ianto for fieldwork until he had regained all of the weight he’d lost, anticipating that the time it would take Ianto to gain the weight would also give him the time he’d need to get his head right. 

He did give the all clear for Jack to start training the younger man. “Just don’t feel him up, like you did Gwen. I know you two enjoyed that weird flirting thing you were doing, but there’s no way he’s emotionally ready to resume that, yet.”

Jack looked indignant. “I did not feel Gwen up!”

“Jack, it was practically foreplay. Bit embarrassing, actually, and it definitely gave her ideas.”

Jack was about to protest, but Owen waved him off. “Go back and watch the CCTV, and actually pay attention to how she looks at you now, and you’ll see what I mean. But that’s not my point. What I’m telling you is that if you want the Tea Boy, your taste would be improving, for one thing. But you’d best give him some time, or else you’ll really break him, and I’ll put him on medical leave so fast your head will spin.

“He is something,” Jack grinned, “but you’re right. I wouldn’t chance his recovery. We’re friends, and that’s it.” At Owen’s sky-high eyebrows, he huffed, “I can be friends with people, Owen.” He added quietly. “He’s a temptation, I’ll give you that. But he’s a mess, and he needs to pick up the pieces. I just hope he’ll let us help.”

Owen nodded, then left Jack to his paperwork.

***

On Thursday Jack told Ianto that he would pick him up at twenty-three hundred Friday night so they could begin the naming ceremony at midnight. “Wear something warm, and bring…”

Ianto nodded. He was still silent as ever, but no longer invisible. Jack took that as progress, considering it was only the younger man’s second day back.

When Jack picked Ianto up on Friday evening, they were both dressed casually in jeans and jumpers. Ianto wore a dark, lightweight jacket and Jack was in his greatcoat. They drove about three quarters of an hour and found a small, deserted beach. 

It was a clear night, and they were far enough from the city center that the stars were clearly visible. The water was calm, with small waves kissing the shore softly and making a soothing sound.

Jack built a fire with practiced ease, and Ianto sat patiently, wondering what this ritual would entail, and whether it would get his magic up. It had been months since he’d felt anything other than what had come loose _that night_ and caused so much damage.

At precisely midnight, Jack invoked the elements, and Ianto felt the gentle tingle of his magic responding. He gave a sigh that Jack likely misinterpreted, for in the next moment he reached out and took Ianto’s hand. 

Next Jack announced the purpose of the ritual. “We come this day to name a child lost. It is not ours to say the child was lost too soon,” he felt Ianto tighten his hold on his hand, but continued speaking, “for every life runs its course exactly as it is meant to. But the loss is felt keenly, nonetheless, and we are here to name the child, to honor the life, no matter how short, to bless the child, and to bless those left behind to grieve.”

He loosed his hold on Ianto’s hand and nodded. “We bring a sacred offering, to demonstrate the pledge and promise that blessing the child and honoring her life is sacrosanct.”

Ianto’s hand shook as he handed Jack the tiny, perfect pink booties. Jack’s heart ached, because he knew that they represented both the love and joy of the unborn child and the cherished memories of that time. 

Jack held them up to Ianto, and the younger man kissed them before Jack did the same. He then placed them in a strange bag that Ianto had never seen, before. Once the bag was sealed, Jack handed it back to Ianto. He then drew from the pocket of his greatcoat a copy of the ultrasound photo, which he and Ianto kissed.

“We now bless the child, whose name was to be…” he looked at Ianto.

“Eleanor Adelaide Hallett-Jones,” he said, his voice rough.

“Eleanor Adelaide Hallett-Jones,” Jack repeated. “With this offering, we name and bless the child, and honor her life. Though it was short, her life spread love and joy to all those whom it touched.” 

He nodded to Ianto, who placed the bag into the flames. He watched Jack place the photo in the fire, then burst into tears. Jack reached out and put an arm around Ianto, pulling the younger man close to his side. Ianto wept on Jack’s shoulder for a while, and when he calmed, he was too exhausted to sit away from Jack as they watched the flames. 

Something about the bag was making the flames shift from green to blue to red and back again. Ianto noticed that the bag was not being consumed by the flames, but he was too overwhelmed to think what that might mean.

Jack had not built a large fire, so the flames died down within an hour, and it was out within another. During that time, they sat quietly, watching the flames and listening to the water. 

When the last flame died, Jack reached out and pulled the bag from the fire. Ianto reached out and placed his hand on the bag, and was surprised to find that it was cool to the touch. Jack gave a small smile. “Found it in the archives. It’s not quite as sophisticated as what we used back home, but its design has let it serve the purpose.”

He opened the bag and, making sure he had no soot on his hand, reached in and drew out the booties, which were completely undamaged. As he handed them to Ianto, who was weeping again, he said, “And as the offering is in turn offered, those left behind are honored and blessed.” He leaned forward and kissed Ianto on the forehead. 

“Now I’ll leave you for a few minutes. I’ll put these in the SUV, if you’d like,” he indicated the booties. Ianto looked reluctant to let go of them again, but handed them to Jack with a nod. Jack left him by the fire and went to the SUV, where he placed the booties in a small containment bag and put it in the console between the front seats. Then he grabbed a couple of water bottles and stared at the stars for a quarter hour before returning to Ianto.

Jack placed more wood and relit the fire, then he sat with Ianto, making sure the younger man drank his water. As they stared at the fire, Jack became lost in thoughts of the past, of the last time he had done this ceremony. It had been a lonely experience, doing it on his own. He was glad he could do this for Ianto.

For his part, Ianto was grateful. He felt as though something had shifted in the catharsis he had experienced during the ceremony, and something akin to peace was beginning to grow. It actually occurred to him that he could do something similar, to honor Lisa. But this time was for Eleanor. He watched the flames and wondered at how this man that he had called monster had known exactly what would ease Ianto’s heart and help him grieve.

Neither man really noticed when Ianto rested his head on Jack’s shoulder. The tears had passed for now, but the grief was still rolling through the younger man. Jack brought an arm around Ianto, for warmth and support.

They were so preoccupied they did not notice those creeping up behind them. Later, Ianto would assume that they went after Jack first, because he was the larger of the two. He felt the impact as Jack was struck by something, and felt the splatter of warmth as Jack’s blood drenched him. 

Too much blood, it vaguely registered as rough hands hauled him back from the fire, away from Jack.

“Jack!” Ianto shouted.

“He ain’t gonna help you, ya fuckin’ faggot. Grab him, Dylan!”

“Couple of queers, about to fuck on our beach? Gonna teach you a right lesson, we are!”

“Blimey, Dave. Think that one might be done for.”

Ianto twisted away from the hands. Jack had taken the brunt of the hit with what he now realized was a tire iron. Ianto was uninjured, though stunned. He got his feet under him and counted four young idiots who were clearly drunk and looking to do some damage.

He couldn’t afford a glance in Jack’s direction, but he could tell that the older man was out for the count. If Ianto wanted to survive, he’d have to fight like he hadn’t in years.

This was going to hurt.

Ianto had a brief moment of clarity before a red mist descended before his eyes. He wasn’t the one who was going to be hurt, this night. 

Gods damn it, he had been through _enough_, already. Now the man who had been supportive and helpful and _there_ through what turned out to be the worst moments of Ianto’s life (and that was saying something!) had been hurt, simply because he was on a beach he very likely wouldn’t have visited, had he not been trying to provide some comfort to Ianto in his grief.

Ianto saw red, and all of his grief and sorrow and anger and hate and rage boiled to the surface. He waded in and, paying no heed to the hits he took, he simply brawled. No strategy, no finesse, no endgame other than to somehow unload some of his pain, and perhaps to share it. 

These _children_ knew nothing about hatred. They had their petty little prejudices, but to know pure, venomous hate, they would have to know what a Cyberman was. They would have to know what a Dalek was. They would have to know what it was for a creature to reach into your life and shred it like tissue paper and throw it in your face like so much confetti.

Part of Ianto would never wish that anyone knew those feelings. But at the moment, a larger part wanted to teach these fuckers a lesson. They’d hurt Jack. Ianto was literally incapable of considering what would happen, if Jack was dead. He was not certain it was a blow he could endure, at this time. He knew Jack could heal quickly, but there were likely limits that he did not wish to explore.

Ianto fought fiercely. He took several hits from the tire iron before he knocked the hell out of the punk wielding it. He kept fighting, and the others tried to dogpile him, but he was able to send one of them into the fire, which served as a distraction as he took out another.

The third was the largest of the group, but likely the least used to having anyone fighting back. In that moment, Ianto found he was not above fighting dirty. He kicked the bully in the knee, hearing a sickening _snap_, then set upon him when he fell into the sand. 

Ianto hit him again and again and _again_, until the one he’d sent into the fire pulled him off. They grappled for a bit, but soon enough he knocked that one out cold, as well. He heard a loud gasp, and looked over at Jack, who was staring at him with wide, wild eyes.

“Typical,” he snarked, sinking to his knees.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Since anger is most definitely one of the stages of grief, I thought it would be interesting to explore Ianto's rage using the relatively safe and expendable outlet of a group of bigoted jerks. He doesn't seem inclined to be angry with Jack over Lisa (he understands Jack's actions and motivations). Most of his anger is directed at the government and the Ministry (and himself), and he is powerless to express it. So having someone to actually hit will be helpful to him, even though he is not by nature a violent man.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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